Kelly looks sick. We all look a little bit grey. Smoke hangs heavily in the dining room where all of the sisters are meeting. And me. I shift uncomfortably. I’m sitting just below the grate to the bedroom. Somehow, no matter where I start at the table, I get shuffled to this spot. I feel out of place: Still a child sitting in on the adult’s conversation. I stare at the small area of table before me, following the swirl pattern of the faux wood grain. In the event. They’re starting sentences with in the event and if. When. I’m thinking when. Lynn is gnawing on the inside of her lower lip. It’s a terrifying habit she’s taken up since quitting smoking. If you sit close enough you can almost hear the skin tear between her teeth.